What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. "Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern.
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